Chapter 9
The eight laughers faced different consequences.
Not one punishment.
Not because I was soft.
Because reality matters.
Two were Second Table members.
Gone from advisory access.
One had laughed nervously and apologized to Beatrix through me.
I accepted the apology.
Not on her behalf.
The rest lost invitations temporarily.
Marcus Cole complained.
“It was a joke.”
I looked at him.
“Then explain why it was funny.”
He couldn’t.
Good.
One guest, Eleanor Bram, surprised me.
She had not laughed.
She had lowered her glass and stepped toward Beatrix before I entered.
Cordelia stopped her.
I had missed that.
Important.
Not everyone watching had failed.
Eleanor later told me something else.
Cordelia had instructed several guests before the party:
“If she cries, don’t make it awkward. Laugh. Keep the mood light.”
There.
Social permission manufactured beforehand.
Some followed because they were weak.
Some because they were loyal to Cordelia.
Some because cruelty becomes easier when someone labels it etiquette.
I changed one rule after that.
No family host had unquestioned control over a room involving children.
Sounds obvious.
Apparently not.
If any adult saw a child humiliated, they could interrupt without worrying about hierarchy.
I told staff directly.
One old aunt objected.
“You want servants correcting family?”
“If family is behaving badly, yes.”
She hated that.
Good.
Beatrix did not know any of this.
She ate cake for breakfast the next day.
Correct birthday recovery protocol.
When frosting touched her crown, she panicked.
Tiny.
Brief.
Then laughed when I got frosting on mine.
Yes.
I wore a paper crown too.
May you like
Mafia dignity survived.
Barely.
